Regeneration
by Gavin Mitchell
Summary: A casual meeting in the City of Doors leads to a profound renewal.


As the characteristic eerie twilight descended over the city of Sigil, a blonde woman with a sea-eagle daemon walked into the Smouldering Corpse Tavern in the Hives and paused involuntarily at the wash of heat. Her hands reached down immediately and beneath conscious control to unbelt her long coat.   
  
The white duster garment did not look too out of place in this environment, as it could have passed, at a pinch, for a priest's robe. The woman's expression held a calmness and certainty that would have been unusual anywhere, let alone here, and as it was from the respectful glances she got from the other patrons -- whose coarsely-woven dress or crudely-forged armour betrayed, in most cases, a technology level no better than medieval -- it was clear they considered her a great healer. Beneath the coat she wore a white denim skirt, sleeveless vest and calf-high boots of industrial manufacture unheard of on this world, but by then first impressions had counted and she was looked upon favourably.   
  
Not so the man her gaze alighted upon with an eyebrow-raise of recognition. This man had occupied an entire table with his accoutrements, and far from complaining the patrons were more than happy to give him a wide berth. Upon the table he was manipulating instruments and frowning. To the rest of the patrons they were obviously magical items, these and the long sword belted at his waist signalling out the man as a great warrior-wizard who was most likely subtle and quick to anger. To the world she and he came from they were identifiable as a Fujitsu Siemens Amilo laptop infrared linked to a Nokia 3330 GPRS phone, but then again, one world's magic is another's technology.   
  
The man made no concessions to his environment at all, wearing paratrooper boots, denim jacket, jeans and t-shirt, patched and emblazoned with arcane symbols that no one in this world could read and which would be taken for powerful magical sigils -- Megadeth, Queensryche, Lostprophets. His appearance would be confrontational on his homeworld let alone here, and might have been amusing was it not so obviously deliberate. Still, the look in his eyes betrayed that his intimidating looks gave him little pleasure. Something about his skin or his remaining close-cropped hair suggested he was much younger than he appeared, and his face was set in lines of bitterness and pain. At the moment it looked like his magical items were doing their best to purposefully annoy him.   
  
Even had any of the other clients wanted to sit near him it would have been difficult. Numerous items were strewn about the other stools, which only the woman, through long familiarity could identify -- a satchel of several flasks and books, a holdall of martial arts gear, a huge backpack of sleeping bag and other camping equipment, and an army-style over-shoulder cylindrical bag usually filled with high-tech weapons for trade to the Planar worlds. The woman had often made the comparison that the baggage within reflected the baggage without, but the man ignored this observation as he ignored most others.   
  
She walked to the bar and the almost fawingly deferential innkeep served her the finest wine available -- about all most Tellurian stomachs, used to mass-produced and chemically-enhanced foodstuffs, could handle. She observed with a weary sigh though that her rendezvous saw fit to risk the roughest ale.   
  
The man glanced up as she approached.   
  
'Ah, hello there,' he said, glancing away to tap away at the laptop keyboard with a glare that would have killed small mammals. 'Fucking thing. You wouldn't believe how many Technocrats, experimental theologians, mage technicians and computer nerds I've had look at this and you still can't fucking get Livejournal or MSN. Maybe I should write a petition to the Lady of Pain.'   
  
'Yeah. Right,' muttered the woman. Even the man had lowered his voice on the last, as though half-realising such a joke went too far. 'A little space here?'  
  
'Sorry. The fucking battery's gone anyway. Would you believe you can't plug these things in anywhere round here?'  
  
'I would have thought that it would have been intuitively obvious,' came the response as she sat down gingerly on the stained, charred bench that the man had cleared, packing his laptop and phone away. Her sea eagle daemon hopped up onto her shoulder and stared straight at the man with keen, unblinking eyes. He frowned back at it, but could hold its raptor gaze for only a few moments before flushing and looking down, embarassed.   
  
'Well, I guess it's pretty clear what brings you to the Planes this day.' said the man in aggrieved tones, casting uneasy, furtive glances at the sea-eagle daemon like a schoolboy been caught stealing.   
  
'Indeed so. But why are you here?' The woman leaned back and sipped her wine, looking forward to some theatrics.   
  
She was not disappointed. The man straightened up in his chair and reached down to his waist in exaggerated movements. In one fluid movement he drew out the long sword at his side. The other patrons deliberately stared into the far distance.   
  
The woman gasped. 'What is *that*?'   
  
It looked like a samurai sword that had been buried in a peat forest for about four million years before being dug up by historians who had then almost immediately lost it in the concrete stablisation pits under a motorway construction site. The blade was black with corrosion, twisted and warped. The single edge looked too dull to cut butter, while the blunt edge was so jagged and notched it looked like it had the potential to do far more damage than the designed cutting surface.   
  
'This is a *karach* blade.' said the man in hushed tones that sounded totally inappropriate. 'The trademark weapon of the Zerths of the Githzerai. I am the first human to ever wield one.'  
  
'Uh... congratulations,' said the woman. Her thoughts could not have been much plainer had she been wearing a sandwich board, though: "you was robbed."  
  
The man flushed. 'Yeah well, it's not what it looks like. This is a blade that reflects the state of mind of its wielder.'  
  
A light dawned in the woman's eyes. '*Oh...*' she said. The sea eagle rotated its head through a circle on its shoulders as only birds can do, looked back at her, then turned to her companion once again. 'So how did you get it? I was not aware the Gith are traditionally well disposed to humanity.'  
  
'They are not. To begin with I had to journey to Limbo, which is hostile to humanity in itself. I was able to will the stuff of that plane to form a bridge for me to reach a githzerai city, but on reaching there I was immediately set upon by their soldiers.'  
  
The man paused to take a pull on his ale. From the grimace on his face as he swallowed, and from the woman's own experience, it seemed pretty clear that once he got back to their homeworld he would be spending the weekend on the bog.   
  
'They would have executed me out of hand, but I called upon them to face me in an honourable duel of unarmed combat in the name of Zerthimon. Of course,' the man grinned mirthlessly, 'it was a foregone conclusion after that, and they let me stay.'  
  
'So they made you a sacred sword for kicking crap out of their warriors? That doesn't sound very smart.'  
  
'Well, not quite. To begin with they wanted me to show them how I had been victorious, and of course I did -- but not too much. Once they'd been baited I brought out my trump cards, my own swords. Once they saw 440 stainless and 60/40 carbon steel they were hooked, line and sinker. Their metallurgists couldn't get enough of me after that. Steel has a massive religious significance to the Githzerai.'  
  
'So I've heard. But surely they can't *get* steel in Limbo.'  
  
'Of course not. Which made me all the more valuable to them.'  
  
'So, I guess one sword for the potential to create an unlimited amount is rather more of a tradeoff.'  
  
'Heh. No.' The man's face grew grey and tired. 'Once I told them what I *really* wanted, they were up in arms. They nearly expelled me back into Limbo on the spot, but I made out they'd be permanently bereft of iron ore if they did. Eventually I got the best outcome that could be hoped for -- that not only would I teach them all I could of Tellurian martial arts and weaponsmithy techniques, and surrender Speed of Darkness and Ultima-Cutter as design examples, I had to prove myself worthy of the blade.'  
  
'I assume the story ends in success, since you're sitting there holding it.'   
  
'Well, yeah, obviously,' muttered the man, frowning at the sarcasm. 'Githzerai value wisdom, intuition and feeling, and care little for intelligence, reckoning and memory. I had to engage in philosophical debates with their most ancient zerths -- and Githzerai live so long as to be as immortal as makes no odds -- for many months while mere moments passed on Earth. If I had not been familiar with centuries of Zen koans and mind-boggling existential theory I would have been lost and exiled.'  
  
A shadow passed over the man's face. 'I won,' he whispered, 'but it was a bitter battle.'  
  
The woman raised her eyebrows in a distinctly underwhelmed expression. 'I see.'  
  
The man glowered. 'So what did you have to go through to get that... thing? You must have gone to the world of the Panzerborne and Alternative Oxford, then headed north to the pagan tribes. I assume they knocked a hole in your skull.'  
  
'Not in the least. I went for a sojourn amongst the witches where I was welcomed with open arms. We danced and sang and loved men beneath the open sky and the northern lights for hours on end, we shared the sacred *porro* (which, from the effect, I'd say was alcohol spiked with psilocybin or peyote) to expand and unite our collective consciousness and, as I had brought them knowledge of the world beyond the stars, the one you and I take for granted, they iniated me into their number. Thus, did I find my soul's companion.' She reached up and ruffled the feathers on the sea-eagle's head. It closed its eyes in ecstasy.  
  
The man shuddered. 'So you had an easy time of it. I suspect the reason for this is divided sharply down the line marked gender.'  
  
The woman shrugged, obviously considering the argument spurious, but too polite to say anything. This was not lost on her companion.   
  
'So what do you plan to do with your... familiar... anyway? Send it out far from your body to speak or spy for you? That would be a very useful ability in the world you and I come from. Shame sea eagles are a critically endangered species. He'd be captured and "rehabilitated" before you know it.'  
  
'Not at all. I would be very surprised indeed if even 1% of our world's inhabitants could see a daemon. And I wanted to find a friend, not a tool. By knowing the male part of my soul, I can better know myself. You know, you should really try it. It'd do you the world of good.'  
  
The man scowled. 'I've got better things to do, assuming the witches would even let me leave breathing.'  
  
The woman's eyes narrowed in anger. 'So what do you intend to do with your vaunted legendary *karach* blade then? From here it looks like you would be lucky to open a tin of beans. Or is it a subtle knife, forged to rip the walls between the planes even further? I'm sure you'll enjoy answering to the Powers for *that* one.'  
  
Her companion sneered. 'Once I have a better grasp of how to control the blade it will become the most powerful force for destruction in our world. Then there will be a vengeance wrought such as the Planes have never seen.'  
  
'Shut up about your fucking revenge already! What are all these weapons intended for anyway? You've already been the bane of a hundred worlds trading devices of mass destruction that should never have even been invented, let alone left their place of origin.'  
  
'You already know that our silent planet may be weak in magic, but in weapons and dreams of devestation we are the envy of the Planes. I'm merely being the catalyst of progress, helping sentient beings to master the sciences and arts of their individual landscapes all the more. War is, after all, the friend of advancement. And I am one of the greatest warriors of the Planes...'  
  
'Wars not make one great.'  
  
'I beg to differ. And I think I've seen that movie too.' The man grinned, a rictus smile with no feeling, no mirth or warmth or pity.   
  
The woman only shook her head helplessly. 'If that is all that gives you pleasure, then I pity you. I can't believe what you've become. If you knew how many people admired you, how many were once behind you, and you can't even find the courage to do something constructive...'  
  
The man shook his head, his eyes and mouth as set and cold and harsh as ever, but betraying a faint desperation. 'I ain't got shit else. Everything everyone else takes for granted -- love, honour, troops of friends -- has been snatched away from me. All that is left is to take pleasure in the suffering I cause...'  
  
'No one is suffering but you. You think an Armalite here or a Chain Lightning Storm there is really going to make any difference? Those wars would have gone on anyway. You think the Powers are losing any sleep over you? They pity you, and regret what you've become, but they don't consider you a threat.'  
  
'With this *karach* blade, one day the Powers themselves will fear me...'  
  
'And you will have lost everything. Even if you burn the Planes to ashes around you, you will have nothing, be nothing.'  
  
'Same difference. I have nothing already. Nothing's left in my life but this.' The rusted, twisted, ugly blade shook in the air between them as he held it aloft, betraying the alcoholic trembling of its wielder's limbs.   
  
'Then *find* something.'  
  
'Find what? I have journeyed the Planes from beginning to end. I have seen the edges of the galaxy where acidic winds blow. I have spoken with the last of the poets and the first of the heroes of the night. I have seen horrors after which most people would never sleep again. I have seen stars and lives begin and end. I know more of the universe, its science and art, its magic and physics, the eternal night and the sentient heart, than the philosophers of a thousand worlds.  
  
'And know this... I have found nothing, *nothing*, in all this but desperation and bitterness and despair. Not even the elves or the Githzerai are free of the end, inevitable death, and while all are subject to death, anything else we create is worthless. When the Powers have played enough, they just cast our souls into the dust.' Mouth twisted in bitterness, the man harshly knocked sand that could have come from Fomalhaut or Rigel or Mars from the container of his laptop into the straw and ale and piss that covered the floor of the bar.   
  
'You're wrong,' the woman whispered. 'In the face of death, sentient beings must find what love they can. Only love is the denial of death. We may die, but our children live on.'  
  
'Love? I have never seen it. In a world without love, all that matters is *this*.' With a bitter smile, the man reached for his army bag and hurled the contents across the bar. Gold coins, Uzis, swords, ammunition, Armalites, lumps of semtex, spell scrolls, grenades, and even more bizarre weapons flew in all directions. With a stampede and shouts, the bar degenerated into a riot as the patrons scrambled for what they could scavenge. 'Money and armed force. You think any of these vermin plan to use these little bits of honey for love? Don't make me laugh.'  
  
'This place is hardly the best of examples, is it?' cried the woman, gesturing at the smouldering man hovering above the grill, seeming lost in ecstasy amongst the flames. It was the kind of place only ghouls looking for the suffering of others would go.   
  
'Irrelevant.'  
  
'No, it's not. You only make yourself see what you want to see.'  
  
'I see the Planes as they are.'  
  
'You do not. Your despair and bitterness and your hatred of other people is your crutch, your veil, your suit of armour.' For the first time, the woman noticed a real crack in the man's visage. She pressed on. 'You're in love with depression, that's why you see no love for anything else. I don't know what you're trying to protect yourself from-'  
  
'I am the greatest warrior in the universe!' the man shouted, leaning toward her. She was shocked by the fury in his voice. 'I have no need to be afraid of anything! I took down three githzerai zerth without even trying!'   
  
'But you are still afraid,' the sea-eagle said.   
  
Both stared at it in shock. It was the first words it had spoken in Sigil.   
  
'True, you have no need to be afraid of anything,' the eagle said, 'but you are afraid of *everything*. You are afraid of real love and experience and happiness so you do not see them anywhere you go. You have been hurt so badly you can think of nothing else, but whatever happened is over now for you. You have no need to make yourself invisible any longer, but the world goes by without you while you do. All your planewalking and your powers and your weapons of mass destruction will not get you a life. You have to go out and get one of those on your own.'  
  
The sea-eagle abruptly spread its wings and alighted from the woman's shoulder. 'I shall see you at the portal to our own world,' it said, addressing her exclusively, ignoring the man. 'I have had enough of what is here.'  
  
'Later, then,' she replied, still surprised.   
  
Turning back to her erstwhile companion, she saw him virtually collapsed into himself, eyes lowered in pain and defeat. For the first time she felt a rush of pity for this broken, empty soul. She considered speaking, but decided against it, and instead rose silently from the table to settle her account, make her excuses at the bar and leave.   
  
But when she returned to the table to say her final goodbyes, she was shocked at the change in the man. His eyes were wide, his expression blank and wondering, the years seemed to have fallen from him, and he seemed to look at her for the first time. He held something in his hand.  
  
'Your sword...' she whispered.   
  
The blade was a long, straight, shimmering expanse of razor-sharp steel, seeming almost to glow from within with an inner luminescence. The hilt and fittings seemed crafted from obsidian.   
  
'My blade has changed,' uttered the man, seeming not to understand the words, as though they were the first he'd ever spoken.   
  
'The same one!?' she said incredulously.   
  
Then, he seemed to recognise her. Out of the blue, he gave her the *karach* with a formalised, ritual movement. She held it awkwardly, trying to keep her fingers away from the single, seemingly atom-thin edge.   
  
'*Know* this,' said the man, 'that my blade, and my being with it, are now yours. It shall be the pronouncement of two deaths as one.'  
  
Almost immediately, she realised the appropriate response. She handed it back to him with a grace and poise she hadn't realised she possessed.  
  
'Take this, and your soul, and use it for yourself,' she said. 'Live your life, and leave the rest behind you.'  
  
The man took the sword and bowed, formally. 'I thank you for your words.' He paused, uneasily. 'Will we meet again in our own lands?'  
  
'I do not know. Our lives run different ways.'  
  
'Then farewell.' He holstered his blade, and inclined his head.   
  
She touched his hand briefly, before smiling at him for the first time, and leaving the tavern to find her daemon, and the way home.   
  
A man, a mortal man, sat in the table of a bar in Sigil. His friend had returned to their homeworld. Soon he would follow her, and give up planewalking and gunrunning forever, for the normal life of an ordinary man. But not just yet. 


End file.
